


Vortex

by m_madeleine



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon, Power Play, Rough Kissing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28000056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_madeleine/pseuds/m_madeleine
Summary: Ice loses his ring, Maverick finds it. Things get interesting.
Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Vortex

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to privatesnarker for beta <3

Maverick invites a bunch of people over, the first night at his new house. Nothing’s finished, there isn’t even a bed frame yet, and the coffee machine is plugged in on the floor. All a bit too empty, a bit too lonely, so people and beer seem to be the obvious solution. Ice comes too. That’s awkward, really, but Mav’s only got himself to blame, because he didn’t have to give a blanket invitation to the whole of TOPGUN, after all – but then they just nod at each other when Ice comes through the door and that’s the end of that. Mav’s the host so he’s got everyone hogging him all the time anyway. And Ice doesn’t try to get his attention. 

See, Mav thought they’d be friends. Well, maybe that’s a bit much to hope for with Ice, though he did have Slider, and Goose seemed to like him too. But they were going to work together, and Ice did tell him the wingman thing, so Mav kind of assumed. But he found Ice, well, icier than expected after all the shoulder clapping action, all avoidance and snapped comments, and not even in a fun way. So it’s a little weird Ice came at all, and for a second Mav anticipates more bullshit, like he’s about to make fun of his house, or challenge him on his teaching methods off the clock too. But no, nothing like that. A couple of times Mav catches Ice out of the corner of his eye, sipping on something, caught up in seemingly serious conversation with Viper — of course he would, the suck-up. Mav doesn’t give it much thought. Doesn’t even remember Ice leaving, though admittedly the evening ended in a bit of a blur. 

Next morning — afternoon, actually — Mav squints up into the sunlight, feeling some type of way about yesterday’s choices. Well. He’d better go get at least part of the cleaning done and then maybe tomorrow’s Maverick is going to feel real proud of him for once, which is rare enough. The house is a mess and it’s a miracle he doesn’t find anyone passed out in a corner, but that’s the good thing about throwing a party in an empty house. Nothing’s broken because there was nothing to break, and it barely looks less inviting than before. Mav’s collecting a couple of empty bottles from the bathroom floor when he catches something glimmering out of the corner of his eye and stops short. Ice’s ring is lying on the counter. Mav stares at it in a stupor for a bit, too out of it to make sense of anything at all. Then he tries to pocket it to take to work later, before he realizes he’s still in his underwear and it’s his day off anyway and so he leaves it where it is and goes to take another hungover nap. 

Of course, by the time he’s getting ready for work again, he’s completely forgotten about it — and once some time has passed and he does remember, the ring has become less of a thing from his party lost and found, and more of some kind of artefact. Hell, Mav found someone’s fancy sunglasses and asked around until he found the rightful owner long ago, but somehow the Iceman’s ring lying on his bedside table feels like a mystery which requires a more complex solution than just returning it. After all, it seems so unlike the Iceman, to forget something he wears every day in some random bathroom. Besides, Ice has ways of making himself scarce. Maybe if he didn’t keep dodging Mav, he would’ve gotten his ring back a long time ago.

***

Not even Ice can skip an instructor briefing though. Maverick tries his best to listen these days, but then Ice has to sit opposite him, all distracting bright hair. Ice is always distracting, even after he’s stopped doing it on purpose – that pen clacking against his knuckles on the first day, driving him crazy. Ice isn’t being loud at all now, but still, Maverick finds it hard to stop looking at him, the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip every once in a while, making blood flood to the spot. 

Of course, maybe Mav should just leave the ring on Ice’s desk at some point, but he kind of wants Ice to know. It’s a gut feeling. Mav is pretty good at those. It’s also a gut feeling when after the briefing, he looks over to Ice squinting at paperwork and suddenly feels he’s gotta say something. Not that he has it planned out or anything. He doesn’t have the ring with him either, obviously. That’d be weird. 

“Where’d that go?” 

He leans against the table next to Ice and nods at his hand. Ice crosses his arms, like he’s trying to hide it, as if Mav hadn’t already seen it, the sharp line denoting where the sun never used to touch.

“Don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Ice snaps, but it sounds half-hearted. 

“I keep telling you, left it at the all-night diner,” the new radar instructor pipes up, and turning to Mav, “We went after—”

“Stop going on about it,” Ice snaps, “I called them twice and they didn’t find anything.”

Mav is momentarily irritated and confused that someone else has been managing to talk to Ice so much he’s started getting annoyed with them. That’s kind of Mav’s job. 

“Maybe it fell in the toilet you were hanging over,” new guy says and Ice shoots him another frosty look.

“I think you’re confusing me with yourself.”

New guy retreats in a way which shows he’s not actually 100% on that not being the case. Mav laughs because, well, it’s funny but then, seems like Ice really doesn’t remember where he lost his ring. Mav can’t imagine why Ice wouldn’t have asked for it back, pride or not. 

Thing is, Maverick hasn’t exactly paid attention to whether Ice is any different when he’s drunk before. He’s always just assumed he wasn’t. Ice knocks back shots like any other, but as in all aspects of his perfect prissy life, he knows his limits. No one would ever accuse him of being a pussy and yet, he’s always been the most sober of the bunch at the end of the night. But now there’s a sliver of weakness Mav wants to poke at for some reason, figure out what’s behind it. So... that’s a bit fucked up. And obviously, since they’re not reckless students anymore but responsible instructors who have to work well together, Maverick’s gotta do something about it. He’s still working without a script here, but some of the best work has been done through improv, hasn’t it? 

“Well, fuck.” He perches up on the desk. “Looks like I missed out on seeing you eat shit, Iceman.”

Ice slaps a file closed and looks up.

“Well, you’re very lucky I didn’t, then.”

“Looks like opinions are divided on that. Could you outlast _me_ though?”

Ice shoots him a withering glance, but Mav leans forward anyway. 

“Come on, meet me at the O-club later. Show me what you’re made of.”

Ice’s lips quirk, just a little, and Mav knows he’s laughing _at_ him. As long as he’s got him, though, fucked if he cares. 

***

Thing is, this competition? Bullshit. Sure, they egg each other on a little, as the weeks go by. Mav orders the most disgusting brand of Tequila and makes Ice finish the bottle. Once Mav comes back from the men’s to find Ice has ordered shots of crystal clear liquid and he slams it down, but instead of the burn of vodka, it's just water running down his throat. 

“Looked like you needed a break,” Ice says, knocking back his own. Mav is annoyed that there's no way to find out if Ice ordered water for himself too, scarce of licking the empty glass.

(Or sticking his tongue in Ice’s mouth.)

No, the most interesting thing is… see, Goose always got him on the half-phrase, agreed before he’d even finish a sentence, but him and Ice, well, that’s a chase. Mav’s itching to take him out to the volleyball court again and make him work for a win. Take him up in the air and rematch him for Top Gun. Well… okay. Ice won that last one fair and square. But maybe Mav’s gonna win _this._ Whatever it is. 

He hasn’t forgotten about why he started it. All the while, like eyeing a MiG on the horizon, Mav’s keeping his ulterior motive in sight. (It’s an interesting feeling to have one for once. Seems like more of an Iceman thing.) And it works, because Mav knows now. Ice doesn’t blush as much as he should, given his pale complexion, but a light pink starts shimmering over his cheeks after the second or third drink. It makes Mav think of the kinda light you see when your plane’s breaking through the clouds at sunset which might be the single poofiest thought Mav’s had in his life. He’s not even sure he minds it. The snark doesn’t come as sharp as usual either, more loose-tongued, and Mav realizes Ice can be pretty damn funny when he wants to. And most importantly, there’s one thing he realizes he hadn’t been noticing— Ice hadn’t been looking him in the eye. Oh, during hours, he would, even though they barely met. Ice’s cool gaze could pin anyone down. But it’s like he stopped trusting himself when he got drunk, and when he’s looking at him, he isn’t looking properly, not really. Not without collecting himself first. 

Mav puzzles over this, until he realizes why. Because when Ice’s gaze finally slips — and it’s metal on metal, like the wings of two planes catching on each other midair, amidst tumult, sparks flying, screeching, in less than a terrifying, terrifying second — and then Ice blinks, excuses himself and walks off to the men’s room. Mav sits there, watching ice cubes melt in their whisky glasses which should’ve been long refilled if they were still playing. When Ice comes back, he says he’s already paid the bill. Mav doesn’t even fight him on it. Later, the memory hits him: the thrill of doing a high G barrel roll for the first time, the adrenaline, the fear — and learning to harness it. And he gets it now, Ice walking the other way on base, Ice coming to his house, downing drink after drink until he started losing stuff, and still never working up the nerve to come talk to him. Well. Mav’s always thought he’s easier than that, really. And Ice should know.

Sure, he could’ve waited, figured Ice out, tried to become surer about it, but he was never one to take it slow. The next time it happens, Mav follows him in. Ice was washing his hands, and his glance snaps up, their eyes meet in the mirror; Ice’s look is raw – and almost scared, and Mav knows he’s done something Ice didn’t expect for once. He’ll do him one better. He walks all up in his space, until Ice is pressed back against the sink, until he can feel his breath on his lips and he pauses, but then Ice hisses a swear and grabs him by the front of his shirt; their bodies crash into each other. Mav doesn’t intend to be left behind, so he digs his fingers and bites.

Back in bed, alone, Mav’s got a swollen lip, aching bruises and a raging hard-on. And still, the unspoken rules are so goddamn stupid it’d be almost possible to write this off as not much more than a fight. At any rate, Mav knows if he doesn’t bring it up again, Ice will drop it forever, just like he managed to come out of the bathroom, clothes smooth, nothing making obvious what he’d been doing beyond the red of his lips. That’s the nature of military life, or at least military life when you just can’t manage to stick to the ladies: disappointment after disappointment, bursts of sizzling sparks that go nowhere. At worst, the iceberg your career runs into. At best, a good memory, something to think of when you’re deployed to some godforsaken place. And you bet Mav is gonna be the best fucking memory you can imagine. 

Next time, they’re smart enough to keep their hands to themselves at the club. The thrill here isn’t in courting the martial. Mav orders for both of them (the good stuff, because he’s not fucking around), rests his leg against Ice’s under the table and holds his gaze deliberately, until even Ice can’t look away anymore. The low light has turned his eyes into their darkest shade, something between a late-night thunderstorm and steel tinted gunmetal grey. By the end of the evening, Maverick gets into Ice’s cab with him.

Ice gives Mav’s address without asking, and they come crashing into the house, clothes already half ripped off. Makes him glad he doesn’t live on base anymore. Mav hasn’t been closer to a man than a casual handie in years, but now his heart is skipping like a faulty engine on the verge of combusting. Thankfully, Mav’s bought a proper bed by now and thankfully, the desperation seems to be mutual. Ice always seemed like someone who doesn’t have to ask for what he wants, and still, he’s licking into Mav’s mouth like he hasn’t tasted anyone in years either — and well, Mav can’t say he’s heard much about Ice’s antics in a while. As much as you try to keep something secret, on a base, you usually can’t. It’s just a matter of not letting it turn into more than a rumor. Hearsay isn’t reporting material. And Ice won’t sell him out. This much he thinks he knows. So this is already shaping up to be one of his better hook-ups, and Mav pulls Ice towards the bed, ridiculously eager to finally get them horizontal— but well. As usual, there’s just one more thing he forgot about. 

Someone else might have overlooked the ring on his bedside table, but of course Ice didn’t. The fucker won TOPGUN after all, and so his eyes fix themselves on it with radar-like precision. Ice falters. And for a moment Mav is...well, not properly scared, but knocked off-kilter. It’s not like he knows what that’s about either. He can’t really make out Ice’s face in the dark, but the way he crowds up in his space is pretty telling. Mav almost hates how weak his knees go at Ice grabbing him by the front of his shirt. 

“You fucking with me?”

Ice sounds raw, angry, and Mav can feel his peppermint-y breath on his face. 

“Well, I was going to, yeah,” he tries. In the dark, Ice’s breath is hard. Mav leans forward, finds Ice’s mouth blindly, licks across his bottom lip. Ice jerks away. 

“If this is some kind of joke, it’s not fucking funny,” he says, still angry, holding Mav at an arm's length.

“No, not really," Mav says, keeping distance, switching tactics. "Now I’m offended though.”

“Wha-“

“I’m always funny.”

A pause. Then Ice snorts. 

“Fucking bullshit,” and he sounds calmer now, so Mav takes a chance, says, “Speaking of fucking,” and hooks his fingers in Ice’s belt loops. Ice doesn’t let himself get pulled, but he yanks Mav in instead, one rough motion. Looks like things are staying interesting.

Later, much later, Ice reaches over to the bedside table, but this time, Mav is faster and he plucks the ring out of Ice’s hands and slips it on his finger for him, where it, of course, fits perfectly, metal sliding comfortably on skin. That _was_ meant to be a bit of a joke, but Ice’s laugh comes out too nervous, breathless, so Mav rolls on top of him, because then Ice will fight back again and they don’t have to think or talk about what the hell that bit was supposed to mean. 

Even later, Ice falls asleep, fingers fisted in Mav’s undershirt, and there, Mav thinks he got all the rest of it now too, and it makes him want to run. Maybe if he runs long enough, he’ll find the space between “memorable one-off” and “career ruiner” this could fit in, or maybe he’ll be far enough away it won’t matter. He takes another deep breath. Ice is asleep by now, soft even breaths — and Mav takes his hand, just to trace the edge of metal gone smooth from being touched so often, again and again. It feels okay to do that, somehow, because Ice doesn’t know. It won’t start meaning anything until he does. He’d probably be annoyed if he knew though, so maybe that’s a reason for Mav to do it again later. He decides to let himself fall asleep, and let tomorrow’s Mav decide what he feels when the first time he sees waking up is Ice’s face. He’s got a feeling it might not be half bad.


End file.
